Late Nights and Scotch
by madaboutalice123
Summary: Working late over a bottle of Scotch, Clive and Martha revisit the past. Spoilers for all 3 series.
1. Chapter 1

A/N

Hi all,  
This is my first Silk fic, although I have a couple more on the go. It's going to be a multi-chapter, but I'm not sure how long yet.

This starts in Series 3, Episode 1, after Billy leaves Martha and Clive alone working late. There are spoilers for that episode, including the first scene. I have taken some dialogue from the show, and I hope I've copied it correctly. I'm not sure of the actual timeline, so I've made one up for the story. The first day/evening is a Thursday and it continues from there. Clive's Silk party was on the Monday night.

I hope you like what I have written, happy reading!

(Aside - I definitely think there is far too little Martha/Clive fic around, and I ship them massively, so if you're even contemplating writing, go on! Do it! I would love to see a fic following on from the final episode, with Clive apologising to Martha for sleeping with Harriet, and then something happening between them. Harriet and Clive is a big no in my world! So, you can consider that a prompt if you would like to!)

"Like the early days," Billy commented from the doorway, bottle of Scotch in hand "You two up half the night with a bottle of Scotch, couple of street robberies I'd killed myself to clerk you into, remember?".  
Clive looked up from his desk, "Higher stakes tomorrow Billy. If only it was just a robbery," he sighed, head resting against one hand.

Martha skipped through some papers, talking through what she was reading aloud, both men watching her.

Billy smiled, he would always watch over them, these two barrister he'd known from the beginning. He'd helped them, mentored them, found them work and been their friend and confidant. He would carry on doing as much as he could for them, as long as he was at Shoe Lane.

"Night Miss," he was unsurprised when Martha didn't raise her head, she was already back in the world of the police notebooks in front of her.  
Placing the bottle on Clive's desk, Billy nodded to him, "Night Sir".

The barrister nodded back and Billy slipped out of the door, leaving the two alone again.

The door clicked shut and the noise pulled Martha out of the internal monologue she had been going through, lifting her eyes to glance at Clive across the room. She expected him to speak, say something about the early days Billy had mentioned, but nothing came. He had been right, there had been numerous nights like that. The two of them, lit only by their computer screens and the old fashioned lights on the wall, working like mad so they felt ready enough to face court the following day. Scotch, sometimes port, was often involved, they rarely left early enough to make it to the pub, so in the end they stopped bothering to try and just drank in the office.  
Every night like that, Martha remembered, followed the same pattern. Come out of court, back to Shoe Lane and have a quick chat with whoever was around or be handed a new brief by Billy and back to the desk. Some days would feature a quick snack, grabbed on the way back to chambers and eaten while working or chatting, catching up on the days events of the others in Shoe Lane. From there on it was just work - the rustling of papers and the tapping on keyboards as they worked, mostly in silence. It was only when one of them reached a sticking point or needed to fetch something that they spoke, usually a plea for a second set of eyes over some paperwork or a response to an outburst of swear words blurted out in frustration, sometimes an offer to pick up something from another room or the printer. It was only then, when one of them left their desk, that a bottle was opened, glasses were picked up from their table by the door and work paused. A break from work made them chattier, they would talk about their work, help each other out, or beg the other to talk about something completely different. There wasn't always alcohol, sometimes they would brew coffee to keep them awake or warm up, some days it would just be water or nothing at all. A few times (in their very early days) they had ordered food, delivery pizza, usually pepperoni to share. Those evenings were always followed by mornings of people complaining of a stale tangy smell in chambers. They were never found out and never admitted it, but quickly stopped those orders.

It was from that point, the break or that second or even third glass, where the evenings stopped following the same pattern. A glass or two of drink didn't always signal the end of work for the evening, often it was just an interlude and they would continue on after half an hour. More than once, when work had carried on again, one or both of them had fallen asleep at their desk, only woken by the sun invading the dull office, or the cleaners hauling open the heavy main doors upstairs. Other times they would leave, one never stayed with out the other, each falling into a cab to grab as much sleep as possible before the morning appeared and another day started. Occasionally they worked straight through the night, no sleep, no food, and then ploughed straight into another day. And then there were _those_evenings, Martha could recall them clearly, as she could all of them, perhaps _more_clearly. Sometimes he started them; he would stand behind her, leaning over her shoulder as she worked until she gave in, tipping her head back so he could whisper in her ear or drop kisses on her neck. Other times she would start it, perching on the edge of his desk, sipping Scotch until he turned his attention away from the computer and took the glass from her hand as she hooked an ankle around his leg and pulled him closer, until she could lean down and kiss him.

Idly, Martha wondered what sort of evening this one would turn out to be. She barely caught herself before her thoughts turned to_which_type of evening she wanted it to be, shaking her head and letting out a huff of air. She could feel a slight flush creeping up her cheeks as she tried to focus back on the work at hand, she was right in the middle of a case, for gods sake! it should be a work late, one drink and home alone night.

Clive had paused in his work, stopped highlighting panels and sentences that would probably come in useful the next day in court. He watched her without her noticing, he could see she had stopped reading, knew her well enough to be able to tell that she wasn't concentrating on the text in front of her. He wondered what had stopped her from working, what thoughts made her eyes cease to flicker across the paper and her hand stop flexing the pen she held. He turned his head away from her, catching sight of the bottle Billy had left as he returned his focus to the computer. The bottle was familiar, a brand they used to drink, in the days Billy had remembered. Clive was fairly sure he could move through the years of their time at Shoe Lane by the alcohol they drank as easily as he could by the people who had worked there. Billy hadn't left a replacement of the nearly empty one in the cabinet, nor one from when they first started. Black Grouse, Clive remembered, had come back with someone from a holiday in America, and out of the people in chambers at the time, himself and Martha were the only ones who didn't mind it. She had found somewhere to buy it in London and it became their late night work drink for some time. His mind drifted back to those earlier years, all the nights they had worked late and drank late and gone home late, sometimes separately, other times together. It had been some time, he mused, that they had even been in this situation - together, late in the office - let alone a different type of end to a day.

His gaze shifted again, from the bottle to her. He caught the end of movement, her hair settling against her head, slightly ruffled, and noticed the blush spreading across her face. She had always blushed easily, he made a game out of seeing how often he could turn her porcelain skin rose-coloured just with a comment or a certain look. As he watched her focus again he realised what had caused it this time - he wasn't the only one reminiscing. Bloody Billy, he thought, although the thought was almost immediately followed by something akin to gratitude. Billy, their clerk for fifteen years, knew them better than they did themselves and really, it shouldn't come as a surprise that he probably knew something about Clive's declaration of love to Martha earlier in the week, even if he hadn't been at the party. Maybe this was his way of trying to push them together, he had always looked out for their happiness after all.

With the realisation swimming in his head, Clive tried to turn his attention back to his work. Their work, really, they were working this one together and he really needed to pull his weight. He reasoned with himself, another hours work and then he could have a drink, see how that played out between them. 

Martha groaned, pushed her hand through her already messy hair and grumbled aloud, "Nothing, not one note about why those six coppers went in".

Clive looked up, "What? What are you reading?"

"Copies of the police notebooks, there's nothing about why they went in there, not even from the bronze commander," she explained with a sigh.

He nodded, "What do you reckon happened then?"

Another ruffle of her hair before she spoke, "The saw him taking those embarrassing photos, just went, come on then, lets get him. And that's why there's no record in the notebook".

Clive nodded, "Yeah, maybe," he paused, "Drink?" 

He fetched two tumblers from the cabinet and poured a reasonable amount in each. Martha made no attempt to get up from her chair, so he picked up both glasses and carried them to her desk, perching on a section which was clear of paperwork in an unconscious imitation of the way she used to sit on his own desk.  
She took the offered glass with a smile and a nod of thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

They drank in a silence that wasn't uncomfortable, each immersed in their own thoughts, until Clive moved to pick up the bottle. He added more Scotch to each glass and returned to his position on the edge of the desk. His leg brushed against Martha's as he stretched them out, crossed at the ankle to prop himself up and he wasn't sure which of them had moved closer.

Another glass, another top up each, and he had shifted so he was virtually in front of her chair. She leaned back in the chair to look up at him, meeting his eyes briefly before flicking away and taking another sip. He followed her lead, draining his glass in one then placing it on the desk and holding out a hand to take hers. She finished the liquid before handing it over and followed his hand with her eyes, watching him reach out again, reaching for her this time.  
For a second she just looked at his hand, hesitating before raising her own to touch him. His fingers curled around hers, warm and making her want more contact. He tugged gently and she stood in front of him, barely taller than him without shoes on, even as he was sat down.  
Martha took his other hand and tangled their fingers together, she closed the last few inches between them, standing between his legs and finally meeting his eyes.  
The couple of glasses had made her braver than she has been when immersed in her thoughts earlier in the evening and she leaned down towards him. He watched her get closer through half closed eyes, only straightening up to meet her when she was over halfway.

For a few seconds they were both still, slightly open lips pressed together, hands still entwined. He moved then, taking the lead and deepening the kiss, teeth tugging at her lips, tongue darting out to taste her more. She didn't fight him but followed his lead, releasing his hands to twist one of her own through his hair while the other slid over his chest. He held her against him; one leg almost curled back around hers, an arm around her waist and a hand against her neck.  
They parted for a moment, both breathing heavily.  
Martha ducked her head, avoiding his gaze until he cupped her cheek and said in a low voice, "I meant it Marth".  
"I know," she whispered, a pause and then, "Let's go".  
She pulled away from him, "Come home with me".  
He couldn't resist that plea; the slightly uncertain look that still lingered in her eyes, begging him to make her believe him fully.  
Clive nodded, he didn't trust himself to speak again.

He pulled his jacket on and pocketed his tie, stuffing papers into his briefcase, the voice in the back of his mind telling him he needed these things for court in the morning. He moved away from his desk and reached for the now significantly emptier bottle of scotch, stowing it in the back of the drinks cabinet.  
Hopefully, he thought, no one else would find it or like it.

Bag over her shoulder, Martha appeared by the door, one hand twisting the handle and pushing her way out. She raised an eyebrow at him and he followed her through the maze of rooms and corridors that made up Shoe Lane, flicking lights off as he went.

She was a few paces ahead of him in the entrance hallway and he lengthened his stride to reach her before she opened the door. Clive caught her arm, turning her to face him and pressing her back into the wall as he kissed her. It was rougher than the previous time, more desperate; he needed to feel her against him, moving under his hands.  
A thud made them break apart; her handbag hit the floor although neither of them was sure how it fell. She picked it up and grabbed her keys, leading him out the door.  
Clive took the fours steps to the pavement in two and raised an arm to hail one of the passing cabs. She joined him on the curb as one slowed to a halt and he pulled the door open, letting her slide in first.  
She rattled off her address and he slammed the door behind him, immediately reaching out for her in the half-light. His hands found hers, pulling her into his side so he could speak quietly in her ear.

"I love you. I've said it already, and I'll keep saying it Marth. This is it for me; you're it, all I want. I'm in this for good now, for the long run, if you'll let me. I ... Oh god, Martha".

Her lips had found his neck and she was pressing hot kisses up his throat to his jaw line. She reached up to pull his head lower and carried on, darting from the corner of his mouth across to his ear.

"Yes," she murmured between kisses, "Yes, please".

Like teenagers, drunk on something they shouldn't have been drinking and passion, they kissed feverishly, hands wandering over and under clothes. His hand was on her knee, sliding up her leg and pushing her skirt higher as he went and she shifted to let him move further.

The cab stopped and they tumbled out, Clive thrusting a note at the driver before he sped away. He followed her up to her flat, although it certainly wasn't the first time he had been there he suddenly felt nervous.  
The last time he had been in her flat was the night she told him the baby was his, and now here they were.  
She noticed him hesitate as she opened the door and turned the lights on, "Don't," she said sharply, "Don't say anything. Just, come here".  
She knew what he was thinking about, it had crossed her mind as well, but she didn't want to dwell on the past right now.  
Clive did as she asked, shoving the front door shut and dropping his briefcase next to hers by the wall. For a second they stood, face to face, only inches apart but motionless, barely breathing.

Suddenly she was pushing up on her toes to kiss him, hands running up his chest, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He reacted in kind, holding her firmly against him and threading his fingers through her hair as he covered her mouth with his.

They lay in silence, light coming from the hallway and the open curtains and drawing lines on her skin. He lay on his side, head propped up on one hand, watching her.  
"Stop staring," she said, even though her eyes were shut, and she nudged him, "Quilt".  
He shifted, tugged the quilt from under them and threw it over them both, before leaning down to kiss her. When he pulled back her eyes opened and she smiled at him.

"You have the most beautiful smile," he murmured.  
"I bet you say that to all the girls," she said, rolling onto her side to face him.  
He slid an arm around her waist, "No, only you. You're not the kind of girl I could use a line on, never have been. You'd always see straight through me".  
Martha scoffed, "You wouldn't be the first to try".  
"Bloody Manchester lads," Clive said, making her laugh with his attempt at an accent.  
"Bloody Harrow boys," she mocked him, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, "All that time at school and Cambridge, hanging around with the other posh boys and girls, now you're slumming it in bed with a Bolton lass".  
He pinched her side gently, "Don't say that, you know it's not true".  
Isn't it?" she said, "We both know I'm not one of those society girls. More like the girls your mother probably told you to avoid. Comprehensive education and too many nights not going home alone from nightclubs in Manchester. Not quite fitting in, always a bit out of place, a bit too outspoken, especially in this job. Insecure and too cynical. Is that what you want?"  
In one movement he rolled them both so he was on top of her again, holding himself up so he could look her in the eyes, "That is _exactly_ what I want. _You_ are exactly what I want".  
She couldn't hold his gaze and let her eyes drift away after a few seconds. Clive could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes as she looked away from him.  
He knew he had caused that, had played around too much and bounced back and forth between her and others when he should have realised earlier how he felt. Maybe he had loved her for longer than he realised, hadn't been able to admit it, especially after her miscarriage. He knew that she did believe him, deep down, but it would take time to sink in, to accept it fully. He could see in her eyes that she felt the same, even though she hadn't said the words, and he didn't need to hear them, could read her well enough without words.

Instead of speaking again he leaned down to kiss her. Her hands drifted up to touch his face, hair, curling around his shoulders. They were gentle now, less rushed and desperate; partly moving and touching from memory but also relearning.

He breathed out words against her skin as he kissed every inch of her he could. Said she was beautiful, perfect, that he loved her, always would. He could feel her smile against his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N. Hi! I just want to say, thank you for reading and reviewing. Please keep it up, it makes me happy! Enjoy! A x.

"What the fuck is that?" Clive woke up suddenly as a blaring noise assaulted his ears, he sat bolt upright.  
Martha merely reached out one hand, slammed it on top of her alarm clock and rolled over, head buried in her pillow, "Shuttup".  
He grinned, she was not a morning person. It took her at least two mugs of coffee to be able to start work, more if she'd been drinking the previous evening. Clive, once he was awake, was awake for good, regardless of the time and the need to actually get up. He usually hated not being able to go back to sleep, especially on weekend mornings, but now he didn't mind.  
He lay back down, recovered from his loud wake up call, and closed his eyes, letting memories from the previous night wash over him.

The alarm went off again, and again Martha turned it off, barely waking up to do so.  
Clive slid out the bed, knowing she could carry on the routine at least twice more before waking up enough to get out of bed and he didn't want to keep getting a shock from the alarm, even if he wasn't actually still asleep.  
He made his way to the bathroom, taking a towel that was hanging over the door and shutting it behind him.

He had prodded buttons on her coffee machine until it made a noise that indicated it was doing something and turned the television on, flicking the channel until he found the news and turned the volume down low. After a few minutes the coffee machine stopped whirring and he poured the liquid into a mug, wrinkling his nose at the smell. She drank it black and strong without sugar, while he had milky tea, usually with added sugar to keep him going. She had never been one for fancy coffees, latte or mocha or macchiato, just straight up black, as strong as possible, or a double espresso. Somehow it woke her up in the mornings, but if she was drinking it in the evening it didn't stop her sleeping at all.

He took the mug and set it on her bedside table, out of the way of the alarm clock, and touched her shoulder, "Marth, Martha?"  
She groaned and rolled over, squinting up at him, "What?"  
"Get up," he laughed, "It's nearly 7".  
"I hate you," Martha said. Clive raised an eyebrow, "I don't think you do, you didn't last night".  
She raised an arm and swung at him, hitting him on the side, "Too early, go away".  
He moved back a pace as she sat up and told her, "Coffee's on the side. I've showered".

Twenty-five minutes later he heard her heels on the hardwood floor of the kitchen-living room and looked around as she entered, "Thank you for the coffee".  
He nodded, "No problem, there's more in the jug. I think it's still on".  
He knew she would drink it even if it wasn't hot, had seen her drain a mug of cold coffee before court when she was in a rush.  
Clive left the TV on and went to get dressed, leaving her looking after him as he walked.  
He was still only wearing a towel.

A groan, followed by an, "Oh fuck," caused Martha to turn her attention from the files she was sorting into her briefcase to Clive, "What's the matter?"  
He appeared in the living room half dressed, holding his white shirt for her to see.  
"And?" she enquired, "So it's yesterdays? Not the first time you've gone to work like that".  
His shoulders sagged an inch and she felt bad, it hadn't been meant as a jab, she was just making a point.  
"Sorry," she said ruefully, "Too sharp. It's just a white shirt Clive, I reckon it'll last another day".  
"Not looking like this," as he moved closer and handed it to her by the collar she realised what he meant. One side and part of the front of the starched white collar had distinct red marks on, a colour that could have only come from her lipstick.  
"Shit," she didn't know what else to say, "I'm sorry, I didn't realise".  
Clive took the shirt back, crumpled in one hand, and reached for her with his other, sliding under her hair and drawing her closer, "Can't do anything about it now," he muttered before kissing her.

When she pulled away she laughed, "It's all over you again, come here".  
She rubbed her thumb over his lips, wiping off the new lipstick stains before stepping back, "You might actually want to wash it off".  
He smirked, "Nah, maybe I'll leave it, match it to my shirt. I'm gonna have to leave it. Suppose the collar will cover it up in court".  
Martha rolled her eyes and turned away from him to finish packing her bag, "I'm sure that'll go down well with some people".  
Clive caught her tone as he struggled into the shirt, too many buttons still done up; he idly wondered how it had come off so easily the night before.  
When he emerged she had moved to the counter and was drinking from her coffee mug.  
"Hey, come here," he took the mug and put it down, trapping her between the counter and himself, "I don't care what anyone has to say Marth, sod them all. I meant what I said".  
A smile turned up one side of her mouth, "Say it again".  
He leaned down to whisper right in her ear, "I love you, Martha Costello".  
She smirked up at him and he grinned, "You're not going to stop doing that any time soon, are you?"  
Martha pushed him away from her and picked her mug back up without answering.

Martha pulled into her parking space and turned the engine off before flipping down the sun visor to look at herself in the mirror. There was a tube of lipstick in the glove compartment which she grabbed and applied, checking her teeth before nodding, "Ready?"  
She knew Clive had been watching her, but was surprised that when she turned to glance at him he had leaned across the car and pressed his lips against hers. She tried to pull away at first, but he wouldn't let her so she relented and kissed him back. He released her with a grin and opened the car door, "Ready".  
She followed his lead, opening the boot for their bags and pulling out hers, "Do you have a problem with my lipstick?" she asked.  
His grin only got wider as he pushed the boot shut, "No, it's sexy. I just like taking it off, like other things".  
Only he could make her smile and roll her eyes at the same time, she thought as she followed him up the steps to court.  
His charm was definitely back.

Alone in the dressing room Martha thought back over the previous evening and into the morning. It was almost like they became other people, different personalities, when they were together. She knew she had softened, he was the only one who would ever see her like that, she trusted him enough to let down every guard. Loved him enough, she thought, even though she hadn't said it back. She didn't need to yet, he knew, and she would show him without words until she could say them aloud. He was more gentle; the flirty, playboy persona had been shed and he had once again become the man she had known for fifteen years, the one only she ever saw. They were more real, more honest, with each other than anyone else and everything they ever had, and would have, was built on that. The previous night had been easy; they moved from memory and instinct, knowing each other perfectly, they had learnt each other over the years. That wasn't to say there hadn't been others, for both of them, because there had. Their physical relationship hadn't been constant and there had been breaks, most recently the time since their one night in Nottingham, and before that it had been at least 6 months she thought. She knew about most of his others, they usually came from chambers, and had always ignored it, pushing down any feelings and finding someone else to waste time with until they found their way back together. He fucked around more than she did, but she had been doing it longer which, Martha reasoned, probably put them in about the same place. There were always emotions between them, it made them different to the others and she had often wondered if eventually it would come to this. Declarations of love and maybe, hopefully, something bigger.  
The snap of the door opening jerked her away from her thoughts, pulling her robes out the locker and swinging them over her shoulders.  
"Morning," she greeted Caroline with a nod and received the same in return.  
Martha glanced at her watch, realised her daydreaming had taken more time than she actually had spare and grabbed her belongings, rushing out the door and towards court room 4.

At the door to court she paused to pull her wig on and straighten her gown.  
"Ready?" Clive's voice spoke from behind her, making her jump.  
"Weren't you ever told not to creep up on people?" she asked crossly, shifting files in her arms.  
He apologised, could see the nerves showing on her face already, "You ok?" "Yes, fine," she nodded, the nervous look not leaving he face or reassuring him. He knew it was a big case for her, for both of them really. Maybe not the biggest, but one of the most meaningful. Defending someone so close to them and Shoe Lane piled on extra pressure, and she always took every case to heart. It was a difficult challenge.  
Clive put a hand on her shoulder, "Do you want a hug?" he offered. To his surprise she nodded, and he carefully wrapped his arms around her. One of her arms, holding paperwork, was squashed between them, her other slid around his back, pressing against him.  
When she pulled back she offered him a smile, looking more like herself.  
"Snog?" he suggested with a grin.  
Martha shoved him but laughed, "Get off".


	4. Chapter 4

Two sets of eyes raked over Clive as soon as he walked into chambers at lunchtime, arms full of papers, trailing red ribbon in his wake. One pair made eye contact; silently questioning how he was, how court had gone, before taking in his slightly crumpled and red stained attire. The second pair simply looked over his body and clothes.  
Harriet spoke first, "What on earth have you been doing? Have you been in court like that? It looks like someone mauled you. Were you wearing that shirt yesterday?"  
She reached out to touch his collar and Clive didn't say anything.  
"You have been in court, haven't you?" she carried on, "I thought..."  
Billy didn't let her get any further, "Practice manager, Harriet. Not life manager. How'd it go Sir? Anything new? I've got something for you actually," he moved past the barrister and led the way into the QC's office.  
Clive let everything drop onto his desk and shrugged his jacket off before facing the clerk, "I think we've got somewhere this morning, he might get off".  
Billy smiled, "Good work Sir, late nights paying off".  
"Huh," Clive sighed, "I bloody hope it doesn't carry on into next week. I've only dashed back to drop some things off, and pick up a disk with some photos on to take in this afternoon".  
"Yeah, me too," Billy thrust a pile of papers at the barrister, "For your sake anyway. Adam Leyland's been on the phone all morning, begging me to give you this one. Murder, some sort of honour killing. It's in Birmingham" Billy explained.  
Clive groaned, "When is it? What's it about?"  
Billy shook his head, "Muslim family, daughter was apparently becoming too westernised and so dad, to save the family honour, killed her. Claims he didn't actually go through with it, but she's still ended up dead. You're defending a friend of hers, maybe boyfriend, who was in the area and found them, but looks like there's more to it".  
"Jesus Billy," Clive groaned and tugged at his tie to undo it, "All that, after this week as well".  
"It starts Wednesday, up in Birmingham," Billy said, "What do you think?"  
The barrister sat down and looked up at the ceiling , "Who is the junior?"  
"It's not so much leading sir, more co defending, there was another friend involved as well".  
Clive raised his eyebrows, "Who?"  
Billy tugged the red ribbon on the brief, uncovering the names on the front page and letting him see for himself.  
"Oh," was all Clive could produce, then, "Is this some double act showcasing or something? First this week, next week another case. What next, renaming chambers? Why do they want two QCs anyway?"  
Billy shrugged, "Just what they asked for Sir. What do you think?"  
"Yeah, alright. As long as this one for David finishes today. You going to ask her?" Clive rubbed his neck and Billy glanced over his collar once again.  
The clerk placed another copy of the brief on the second desk in the room, "She'll see," he looked back at Clive, "You alright?"  
The younger man stifled a yawn, "Yeah, good".

Maratha rested her bag on Billy's desk as she spoke to him, "That Birmingham case looks like hell. Where do you start with something like that? And it's being tried at home as well? Bloody hell Billy".  
The clerk shrugged, "They were asking for you Miss, what can I do?"  
She sighed, "Fine. Look, I've got to get back to court".  
Billy shooed her away, "Go. I'll make arrangements and let you know. Probably go Monday, it starts Wednesday. Give you a chance to work on it".  
Martha disappeared out the door and Billy tapped his fingers on the desk.

She walked briskly down the street from chambers; handbag over one shoulder, case file resting in the crook of her arm and a cigarette held delicately in the other hand, her silver thumb ring glinting in the sun. The repetition of lifting the cigarette to her mouth was calming, more so than the smoke she breathed in. The case was coming to a close, but there was still a nagging fear that she hadn't done enough to get the right result. The feeling was a common one, it accompanied every case she took on, but this one meant far more. It wasn't her biggest case, but it might have been the most important, defending Alan's son. It looked more likely that they would win now than it had done in the morning, but she still couldn't be sure. It was impossible to be sure until the jury spoke.

Outside court Martha stopped, leaning against the wall to finish her cigarette. She fought down a wave of tiredness as she stubbed out the cigarette under her heel, this case had taken a lot out of her; mentally and emotionally, and there had been enough late nights in the week as well. Martha looked at her watch, twenty minutes until court started again. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a slightly battered looking king-sized mars bar with relief. The last time she had eaten was lunchtime the previous day, a quick sandwich in the coffee shop opposite court, she had been existing on coffee since then. Martha walked up the stairs and into the robing room, dropping into a seat at a table in the corner and relaxing; her head fell back, eyes closed and she sighed. For a few seconds she was still, just breathing, thinking about nothing.  
She unwrapped the chocolate bar, nibbling at one corner slowly, letting the sweetness and sugar filter through her senses. Hopefully it would be enough to pull her through the rest of the afternoon.

The door to the silks robing room swung open and Clive walked in. He pulled a chair out and sat opposite her, "Are you ok?"  
She nodded, mouth full of chocolate, "Mmhmm," she chewed and swallowed, "Sorry. Yes thanks. You?"  
He smiled, "Fine thanks. Ready for this afternoon?"  
"As ready as we can ever be.

Martha pulled the wrapped off the mars bar and carefully snapped it in two, "Here," she held out the half she hadn't nibbled at, "If you're feeling anything like I am, you could do with a boost".  
Clive took the chocolate, "God yes. Thanks Mar".  
He ate quickly, chasing the food with a bottle of water he pulled from his briefcase. He offered her the bottle and she closed her fingers around it, sipping the cold water slowly.  
She returned the bottle, finished her half of the mars bar and stood up, brushing off her skirt and hands.  
"Shall we go back in then?"

Clive was perched on the side table in the clerk's room in chambers, idly watching another showdown between Billy and Harriet and pretending to read the newspaper, when Martha swung through the door.  
The noise brought the argument to a brief pause as Billy caught sight of her, "Congratulations Miss," he squeezed an arm around her shoulders and smiled.  
"Thanks Billy. It wasn't just me though," she tipped her head towards Clive as she hugged the clerk back.  
"Very true," the clerk agreed, "My two silks".  
Clive shook his head, "You got that one, it was your case".  
"Joint effort," Martha disagreed, "I left him with Alan".  
She tried to push open the office door with her shoulder until Clive reached over and held it open before following her through, leaving Harriet and Billy to continue their bickering.

Papers, bags and a paper coffee cup fell onto the side table as she let everything go at once with a sigh.  
"Well done," he stepped closer to her, "You won that today".  
She looked away, uncomfortable with the praise from him and feeling self conscious under his gaze, "Joint effort," she said again.  
He reached for her, drawing her into his arms and holding her. He felt her hands press into his back and grip his shirt, her head tucked into his neck.  
They stood motionless, briefly letting time stop until she pulled back, hand sliding to rest against his chest and looking up at him, "It's been a long day".  
He nodded, "Yeah. You ok?"  
She moved away from him, starting to tidy up the things she had dropped, "Yeah, I am. Do you want to go for a drink?"  
He didn't answer immediately, waiting long enough for her to look at him and then speaking, "Dinner?"  
A look of surprise and pleasure crossed her face, "Ok," she agreed, "Dinner".  
"Go home, change, I'll pick you up," he tugged his collar, "Enough people have seen this already today".  
She snorted a laugh and turned away from him, shuffling papers into her briefcase while he leaned against the edge of his desk, "Who said anything?"  
He looked at the ceiling, "Harriet. One of the policemen. Billy and Jake just looked".  
"Great," she muttered, "Bloody great. All of chambers will know by the end of the day then, fucking Harriet".  
"Mar," he caught her hand, stopping her movement, "They don't know anything, I didn't say anything. I'll never see that policeman again; Jake can barely manage more than a sentence, let alone gossip about anyone. Billy wouldn't say anything, wouldn't judge even if he knew exactly what happened. He stopped Harriet's interrogation. Fuck her," he copied her words.  
Martha tugged her hand back, "Don't say that," she said, "You know she wants to, wants you. Hanging off your arm, every word, all over you at the pub. Marginally less subtle than Jake over Bethany and a hell of a lot more judgemental".  
Clive bit his lip to stop a smirk. He had seen Martha jealous before, more times than he cared to actually admit throughout their past, but this was the first time she had laid it out for him and he knew it was hard for her but he couldn't help being a little turned on by her anger and jealousy.  
He stood up and held her by the shoulders, taking her by surprise, "I only want to fuck you Mar. God, I would now if I could," his voice was low, "I've wanted you all day, all week. Christ, I've fucked too many women Marth, it should have only ever been you and me".  
As crude as his language was, she could believe him speaking like that more easily than when he was gentle with her. It was how they worked, blunt and honest and sometimes anything else was overwhelming. She knew he was telling the truth, had been since his Silk party, but it was this blunt declaration that she could take to heart.  
Before she could reply he was kissing her; harder than he had in a long time, rougher than the previous night, not that she minded, never had done. It was something from their past, but it was their future as well, passion and feelings that had been hidden for too long.  
His hands wandered as they kissed, freeing the hem of her shirt and sliding beneath it. Only when his fingers grazed the edge of her bra did she pull away.  
"Clive, we can't, not here".  
He huffed out a laugh, but made no move to take his hand back, "Yeah, you're right. Carried away," he was still slightly dazed.  
She tugged him towards her again, kissing him thoroughly before letting him step away, "Dinner. And then..." Martha left the sentence unfinished and held his gaze for a second longer than normal.

A knock on the door made them both pause in their packing up.  
He was nearer the door, putting some books away, and turned to glance at her before grabbing the door handle. Martha hadn't straightened her shirt and there were tell-tale lipstick smudges on the edges of both their mouths, but she didn't care, had a feeling he didn't either. She shrugged one shoulder and turned back her desk.  
It was Harriet who entered the room. Bloody typical, was Martha's only thought; she didn't bother to look up, didn't need to see their practice manager fawning over Clive.  
There was rustling of paper before she spoke, "Sir, Miss, here's your diary for the next week, although you're away. And the details for your trip, hotels, directions and everything. Everyone's nearly done for the day now, heading over to the pub. Coming? We should celebrate your win today".  
Bent below her desk to unplug her laptop, Martha heard Clive reply, "Sorry, not tonight, other plans".  
She could picture Harriet's disappointed face, and when she stood back up and checked, she had been correct.  
"Miss? A drink?" Harriet turned to look at her.  
"Thanks but I can't, already out," Martha said as she tucked her laptop away.  
She could see and feel Harriet's eyes taking in her rumpled appearance, then glance across at Clive, and could tell the moment that Harriet realised the most likely reason they both looked dishevelled.  
The younger woman turned away and opened the door, "I hope you know what you're doing Sir," were her parting words.

The heavy door closed with a thud and left them in silence apart from Martha still rustling paperwork. She could feel annoyance, maybe anger, rising in her chest and bit down on her lip to stop herself saying something. It was none of Harriet's goddamn business, their personal lives. And why was it only Clive who got a warning? Oh yes, his personal life could be made Harriet's business because she fancied him. It was so obvious as well, she thought, Harriet didn't even hide her flirting or touching around chambers. He had never been discouraging, Martha tried to reason in her mind, had always flirted back with women and usually she ignored it, she wasn't sure why it was different when it was Harriet. When he had slept with Niamh, she flirted with Nick, although they both knew the two pupils were a good fifteen plus years younger. Maybe it was because she knew, deep down, that Niamh had just been a one-time thing, young and a bit of fun, where Harriet would try and turn it into something more if he gave her anything to go on.  
"You ready?" His voice broke through her rambling thoughts and she looked up.  
"Yes," she said, more forcefully than needed, "Let's go. Do you need a lift?"  
He shook his head, "No thanks. My car is still here, I drove yesterday, too much to carry. How did you get in yesterday, if your car was at your flat last night?"  
Martha picked up her handbag and laptop case, and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, "I got a cab yesterday morning, was running late and needed to do some reading on the way in".

His car was on the near side of the car park, hers further away, tucked in its' usual corner where she felt she could safely leave the top down and no one would notice, and they paused next to his.  
"I'll come by and pick you up," he said, rummaging for his car keys in his pockets, "Is an hour ok?"  
She nodded, "That's fine. If you just press the buzzer you should be able to walk in, I'll leave my door unlocked".  
He shoved his bags in the car and turned back to her, "Hope some maniac doesn't get there first," he grinned, "I'll see you later".  
"You'd better not be late then," she laughed.  
He surprised her by leaning over the car door to kiss her, pulling away with a wink. She moved away as he started the engine and waved before turning and walking to her own car.  
She had left the top down and dropped her bags onto the back seat before sliding in and starting the car. She flicked from the radio to the CD player and increased the volume as she swung onto the main road, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as she eased into the flow of traffic.


	5. Chapter 5

AN - Hello! Just a quick one to say thank you for reading and reviewing this, I love getting your messages, please keep sending them! Sorry it's has taken a while to update, life got a bit mad, but I'm back now and things should be coming more often now! A couple things in this chapter (and probably forthcoming ones too) have been taken from interviews with the actors, and I've added them to the characters personalities...have a guess if you like! Also, I've put some things on Pintrest from my stories if you're interested - I'm madaboutalice88 and the board is called 'FF'.  
Anyway, happy reading! A x

Martha stood in front of her wardrobe, all the doors open, wrapped in a towel and looking for something to wear. She wasn't a stranger to dating; had been on plenty of dates, had more one night stands than she probably should have done, some flings, a handful of proper relationships, and Clive. The one man it always came back to. Maybe, she mused, it was just the way they were; they needed something to finally push them together for real. She didn't know why he had suddenly done it, told her how he really felt at that party. Maybe it was a sudden realisation, or just an opportunity; she didn't know, wanted to find out though. For her, it had been longer; she had known she loved him long before they had been in Nottingham. Back then she couldn't tell him, had tried to distance herself from him and let him go off with others. She didn't know how he would have reacted, but was fairly sure it wouldn't have been good, probably not the reaction she would have hoped for. It had hurt, watching him, knowing what he was doing was partly because she made herself unavailable, but it was easier that way than when he bounced back to her between others. More often than not it was him who had moved on first, she just followed suit; equally, it was usually him who came back first. Martha wasn't proud to admit that she had cheated on more than one man with him. She had never told him, probably should. He had very little staying power, was easily distracted, but somehow she had been his constant. She had always been unable to resist him, but the times where she had made the first move back to him, he had never resisted either.

He found her front door ajar, music drifting down the corridor towards the lift from her record player. He liked her flat, big and open and modern. It was uniquely her, Clive thought; an organised mess of work and personal things. It was mostly white with sudden pieces of colour or pattern; sofa cushions, a rug or art on the wall. Her shoes were haphazardly kicked off in the hallway; two pairs of black court heels, a pair of boots, red slippers and battered Converse.  
Clive shut the door properly behind him and called out to her to announce his arrival.  
"Bedroom," she called back, "Almost done".  
A smirk crossed his face as he followed the same route as the previous night to her room. The hallway divided the flat in two; two bedrooms, en suites, to the left and the large open-plan kitchen-living room on the right. He could see all her work things dumped on the table she used for a desk in the corner of the living room, a mug and orange peel on the kitchen counter, and their two mugs from the morning still sitting on the dining table which separated the kitchen area from the sofas and TV.  
He stopped in the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms folded and watching her shoving things in a handbag.  
She wore a lavender top, smarter than causal and low cut enough for his eyes to rest on the neckline for a beat. Martha could feel his eyes on her, forced herself not to look at him. She never wore trousers to work and had put a pair of jeans on with heels to make her outfit a little more going out-y.  
"Finished looking?" She arched an eyebrow at him as she straightened up.  
He smirked and nodded, "For now. You ready?"  
She nodded, "I'll get my coat as we go".  
He let her lead the way, followed her through her flat as she turned the music and lights off. She pulled a jacket off a hook in the hallway and swung it on before opening the door and letting him go through before locking it behind them.

She laughed at the music in the CD player of his car until he put the radio on because he wouldn't let her go through the disks in the glove compartment.  
"I'll drive to Birmingham," Martha said as he navigated the streets.  
He shot her a questioning look, "Marth, I've known you write off a car and been with you when you've reversed into two others, and a wall. Is that really a good idea?"  
The problem with Martha's driving, Clive had found out very quickly after meeting her, was that it was too fast, especially for London. She was impatient, quick and often thought she could fit into spaces far too small for the cars she drove. She also had a tendency to buy cars simply because she liked what they looked like, so usually they were impractical and nearly always convertibles. He could remember her owning some sort of canvas-topped Jeep (the one she wrote off) and a convertible Volvo (the wall came off worse) amongst others. The current choice was probably her best, he mused, although she left the top down wherever she went, as long as it wasn't raining, and he had lost count of the times she had complained that her lunch or newspaper had been stolen off the front seat.  
She tapped the dashboard, apparently unoffended, "That was years ago, there's not a mark on my Spider. Anyway, my car is better than yours".  
Clive had to admit she was right, he needed a new car. He had been driving the same one since he came to London fifteen years ago and it had see better days. He rarely drove for longer than half an hour, and most of that was in traffic, so hadn't really been bothered about looking for a new one. He kept it clean, but it was starting to spend more time and money in the garage than was practical. If he wasn't carrying all his robes and paperwork to court he rode his motorbike, but it wasn't really a practical thing to drive.  
Clive shrugged, "Fine, I'll drive yours".  
She had no answer to that and instead asked, "Where are we going?"

Clive parked his car back at his flat and they walked the short distance to the Thai restaurant he had chosen, knowing she was a fan of Asian food and anything spicy.  
"Have you been here before?" Martha asked, looking around.  
The room was fairly large and a lot of tables were full but it wasn't too loud or impersonal for them to be able to talk or feel awkward.  
"Once or twice," Clive said, "With my brother, but it was a few months back".  
She nodded, "It's nice. And it smells good".  
He laughed, "What do you want to drink?"  
They ordered enough food to eat dinner at least twice and fell into easy conversation while waiting. Neither of them would have called it a date, they had been casually doing something like that for a long time; they had always spent time together outside of work, not just sex but as friends as well. The evening was more a confirmation, a decision that they were moving forward together as more than friends.

They strolled along the road from the restaurant towards Clive's flat, talking quietly. He had laced his fingers through hers and Martha idly wondered how many times he had let simple actions like that announce to the world he was actually with someone. It probably wasn't many; he wasn't very open with displays of affection unless pushed. Martha had always done that and for some reason he hadn't ever minded; a celebratory or commiserating hug, linked arms walking around or his arm draped over her shoulders - their height difference making those actions comfortable. She gripped his hand a little tighter and he looked at her, "You alright?"  
She nodded, bumped her shoulder against his and asked, "Why did you tell me then? At your silk party?"  
"It..." he started and stopped, "I think I just suddenly needed to tell you. You'd lost that case and had a bit of a mad rant at the judges and were so passionate about it all and then you were dancing," he smiled at the memory and carried on, "I just couldn't keep it in anymore. Just then, I realised that I had to tell you, it was too much too keep in any longer. Maybe I should have waited, or said something earlier, I don't know".  
"How long?" Martha said, as they cut across the road and walked towards his glass fronted apartment building.  
Clive didn't answer immediately, pulling his keys from his pocket first, "A while," he offered as he opened the foyer door.  
She rolled her eyes, "Funny, Clive".  
"I know," he pressed a button and the lift opened, "It's part of my charm".  
Martha snorted, "You keep telling yourself that".

He handed her a glass and sank down next to her on the sofa. The room was half lit, light filtering through the blinds on the floor to ceiling windows and from the few lamps he had flicked on. With the blinds open you could see all the blinking lights across London, a view he loved, but sometimes it felt too open, too impersonal with windows covering a whole wall.  
He touched his glass against hers before drinking, slowly sipping at the amber liquid before speaking again, "Since you got Silk".  
Martha frowned, not understanding what he meant, "What?"  
"Just before, actually," he elaborated, "Well, that was when I realised, maybe it had been longer, since before, you know," over a year later he still couldn't quite bring himself to say the word miscarriage, "I had no idea what I was doing, I'd fallen in love with my best friend and I could barely admit it to myself. I tried to tell you, I couldn't get it out. I bailed every time, said something else instead," he drank again, ran a hand through his hair, "Fucking stupid, went out with George because I didn't know what the hell I was doing. It was easier, it didn't mean anything, not to me anyway. Remember when I said I missed you? When you'd got Silk, you were heading off to that barracks for a case? I did mean what I said that night, but I missed you and me as well. I couldn't be myself, and it was my own fault I let our friendship drift. I almost said it that night, when you pushed me, but I just couldn't. I had no bloody idea what you would have said and right then, I don't think I could have taken that. I needed time to work it out for myself. I've been an idiot Mar, such a bloody idiot".  
She was smiling when he looked across at her, "Yeah, sometimes you are, but I still love you".  
"You..." he tried.  
Martha laughed, "Yes, you idiot, I love you. Have for a while, actually".  
Instead of replying he kissed her, hard and passionate until they both needed to breathe. Her forehead rested on his cheek and she could feel him smiling against her skin as he spoke, "Say it again".  
A laugh escaped her, she knew he was teasing her now, "I love you, Clive Reader".  
"Good" he turned slightly to kiss her hair, "Since when?"  
"A while," she nudged him, playing his game.  
They sat, arms around each other, until Martha lifted her head, a smile twitched on her lips as she spoke, "More than The Clash".  
"I should bloody hope so," Clive laughed.

Martha pushed some of the blinds apart and leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window, looking out across the buildings. She watched the lights below; some travelling in and out of view, others constantly on or flickering on and off. The dark of the river stood out between the lights, curving out of sight under a bridge, and she wondered how much the view changed each day and night.  
Soft footsteps announced Clive's return to the living room and he moved to stand behind her.  
"You ok?"  
She nodded, breath coating the glass when she spoke, "Just looking. So much better than the view from my windows".  
Her building was too close to others to afford much of a view, even the tiny balcony only looked over the gardens of terraced houses below.  
"It is nice," he agreed, resting his head slightly above hers, "You can see St Paul's on a good day, if you look beyond the OXO tower. The view is the best thing about this place, although I'm not sure how long I'll be able to stay here. My dad did some sort of deal or favour with a friend who works in the Middle East and it came at a good time after selling my old place".  
"I remember that flat," Martha nodded, "Would you stay here if you could?"  
"Yeah, I think so," Clive said, "I just want to own a place again, somewhere that's actually mine. I mean, everything in here is mine, but I can't do whatever I want to it. You're lucky".  
Martha pulled a face, "Maybe. But it bankrupted me when I bought it".  
He laughed a little and they fell into an easy silence for a while, just gazing over the roofs.  
"I love you," Clive said softly, words falling easily from his lips. He liked saying it.  
"I know," Martha smiled, she turned so her back was against the glass and they were chest to chest, "Show me".


	6. Chapter 6

AN - Hi all, thank you so much for your reviews and saying such lovely things, I really do love it! Sorry this has taken me a while, I keep getting distracted by other ideas, but this is definitely back on the go now.  
Hope you enjoy :) A x

* * *

She stretched, arms above her head, toes pointed, and couldn't quite reach either end of his bed. Tried an arm to each side and still couldn't. Martha smiled slightly; it was typically him, a bit brash, loud, modern and obviously rich, exactly what she had thought of him when they first met as pupils. She hadn't disliked him; they were just different, completely different. As they spent time together and she got to know him she found his other side; kind, caring, funny and more vulnerable than expected. He had been just as nervous as her back then; he was terrified of letting his family down, she was more concerned that she would fail and have to return home, eyes downcast and admitting defeat - that a girl like her would never make it. She had always thought he was good-looking, although a far cry from the boys she had dated at university, and it hadn't taken much for them to move from close friends to something more, even though it had never become a relationship. She supposed people now would have called them friends-with-benefits, but they had always been more than that, something had always drawn them together, in whatever guise it was at the time.  
Martha shifted to the edge of the bed and stood up, waiting for the head rush to pass before moving to take his navy dressing gown from the back of the door and pulling it on, vaguely wondering what he was wearing. She thought she remembered him getting up, telling her she didn't have to move; she hadn't, wasn't about to leave the warm comfort of bed without actually needing to, it was a Saturday after all.

She found him on the sofa, tea in hand and watching the news; his morning routine, whatever time he got up, wherever he was. She took a seat on the glass coffee table, right in front of him.  
"The first day of a trial I did in Bournemouth, burglary of an old people's home," Martha started, "It was awful. On my own, the most unhelpful, horrible people, and I went back to my hotel that night and just cried. All I wanted was to be with you, making me feel better, making me laugh. I failed the trial, they went down, and I came back here, to you, a bottle of wine, and suddenly it didn't seem so bad. I knew then. However much we fought, argued at work, about work, about anything; it was always you who picked me back up, made me smile again. You were always there beside me, whatever I needed, reading me like an open book, being my best friend. How could I not fall in love with you?"  
Clive took her hands gently, leaned towards her, "Oh Marth..."  
A sniff, a half smile, "No one else ever came close, some tried, a few succeeded before I realised how I felt about you. I pulled back every time then, went back to you, even if it was only for a night. Slept with you when I was seeing someone else, twice, something always drew me back to you, although I never admitted it. I never thought you would feel the same, that's why I didn't say anything, didn't want to make it awkward or lose you, even as a friend. I just pushed it down, tried to ignore how I felt. Pushed you away, or didn't make it easy for us anymore, I just watched you go off with others and never even thought to stop you or say something. I tried to make myself forgot, did a couple of stupid things, threw myself into work even more than normal, and then realised I just had to carry on, that maybe one day something would change. I always hoped, almost prayed, that eventually we'd have something real. You were more than my best friend, always have been, it just took a bloody long time and too many other men for me to understand".  
He let out a deep breath, "Jesus Martha".  
She dropped her head, avoiding his gaze, "I'm sorry. That all came out at once. Now who's the idiot? I didn't mean to say all that".  
"I'm glad you did. It doesn't matter," Clive promised, "None of it matters. Come here".  
She moved next to him, falling into his side, head against his chest as he tucked an arm around her shoulders. He felt strangely relieved after her words; mildly surprised, but lighter, as though they had returned to telling each other everything, regardless of what it was. They had both laid feelings bare, been as honest as they had ever been and she was still curled in his arms, and that was what felt right. A future loomed in both their minds; gone were the days of barely concealed emotions and misunderstood real feelings, replaced with something both familiar and unknown; love built over fifteen years and a relationship neither of them would ever take for granted.

"Do you want breakfast?"  
Martha looked towards the clock, "Lunch, actually. But yes, I would".  
He followed her gaze, "I didn't realise it was that time already. We can eat out, or we might have to go and buy stuff".  
She smiled, "If we buy, you're gonna have to cook. You know my kitchen skills are limited. I managed to blow up something, I think it was soup, in my microwave the other day. Bang, flash, the whole works".  
Clive laughed, "Sounds tasty. Does it still work?"  
"I haven't tried it since," she admitted, "I'm well acquainted with the takeaway on the corner though".  
"We'll go shopping," he said, "I need some things anyway".  
She hummed, "You need proper coffee".  
"You're such an addict," he teased, "I'm surprised you're functioning now".  
"Barely," Martha sighed, "But that was the longest sleep I've had in weeks, so maybe that made up for it".  
"Come on then, unless you're going out like that," he stood up and pulled her to her feet, briefly toying with the tie on the dressing gown she wore.  
For a few seconds she let him, his hands sliding under the material, fingers drifting across her skin until she shivered and pulled away, "That's not getting us anywhere".  
He grinned, "It'll get us somewhere, maybe just not where we were thinking right now".

It was sunny but cold when they left Clive's flat, hand in hand and laughing at something neither of them could actually pinpoint. They bypassed the bus stop and decided to walk to the supermarket, a nearby Waitrose which Martha was teasing Clive about.  
"It's not my fault it's the closest proper shop," he protested.  
She laughed, "Well it was hardly going to be an Asda in this area, was it?"  
"What's that supposed to mean then?" he asked, pretending to be offended.  
"Clive, you live about thirty seconds from Whitehall," she pointed out, "I don't think that a local Spar would cut it around here".  
He tugged her hand, turning them off the main road, "But you're not going to complain about the Starbucks, are you now?"  
Martha pretended to gasp, "Coffee, oh coffee. You're buying, that instant stuff you have is basically poison".

Bags in hand, they returned along the main road and stopped at a crossing. A billboard opposite them advertised the film version of the newest Dan Brown novel which caught Clive's attention.  
"I've been meaning to see that," he said, "Possibly not your kind of thing though?"  
Martha followed his gaze and shrugged, "No idea. I've not read any of his books, but I've heard people rave about them".  
"They're sort of action-y, mystery," he tried to explain, "A bit of everything really. Mostly a puzzle and usually a ridiculous car chase and some history. The books should come with mini encyclopedia's".  
They crossed the road quickly, "It doesn't sound awful," she said, "I'm not anti action movies. And I don't mind Tom Hanks," she grinned.  
"You think you're funny," Clive smiled.  
"Well you're the one laughing," she replied, "I don't mind, let's give it a go".  
He pulled keys from his coat pocket and then opened the door to the building before speaking, "You sure? I only mentioned it because I saw the advert".  
Martha nodded, "Yeah, sure. As long as it doesn't matter that I haven't seen the other ones first. Anyway, even it's not my sort of thing it's what a good girlfriend does, isn't it? Goes to action hero movies so a guy gets to see them".  
Clive looked at her and she frowned, "What?" then realised, "Oh god, I just said...I -".  
He cut her off with a kiss, "I'm sure you'll find some slushy romantic films to drag me to see anyway," he joked, knowing her not-so-secret love for predictable romcoms, "I'll be a good boyfriend and even buy the popcorn".  
She was a light shade of pink and still stuttering slightly about what she had said when the lift opened and they walked in.  
"Marth," she looked at him, "I'm only teasing. It just sounded funny, like we're twenty again".  
"Well what would you say?" she challenged him as the lift started its upward journey.  
Clive smiled, "The same, I expect," he leaned to whisper into her ear, "Martha Costello, will you go out with me?"  
A smile broke across her face as she pretended to think about it, biting her lip before answering, "Well, you're the best looking boy in class...and... . Ok, yes, I'll go out with you Clive".  
He kissed her again until the lift pinged their arrival on his floor and they stepped out to his door.  
Martha knew she was smiling a little madly, feeling a little giddy, but when she caught his eye she could see Clive was exactly the same. It was partly their teasing but it was their situation and genuine carefree happiness that was infecting them both.

The opposite to Martha, Clive was quite happy in the kitchen. University and fending for himself had been a shock to him after boarding school and after living for a few months on toast and cereal he had decided that he should probably learn to actually make proper meals. An added bonus, he discovered, was that being able to cook was a good pulling technique; he had won plenty of girls over, and the occasional professor if he was honest, with the promise of cooking them dinner. Martha wasn't bothered by cooking, nor was she particularly good at it, and preferred to eat easy meals or not bother, a habit which had been the subject of many rows throughout their friendship.  
She sat on one of the high bar stools, elbows on the counter, and watched while he cooked lunch, occasionally stealing a piece of something. It was easy for them to be together, not doing anything in particular. They had weathered fifteen years of friendship or more and there was little they hadn't been through together. Completely honest with each other from the outset (Martha had bluntly told Clive that if he wanted to look clever, sitting reading the newspaper in the chambers anteroom on their second day, he probably should be holding something more up-to-date than last Tuesday's Times), they had always shared everything; painful truths, fears or dreams, and news, good or bad. Somehow, working together had made them rather than torn them apart. They had shared an office from the day they ceased to be pupils and had learned from each other, leaned on each other, supported and berated each other ever since. There were times when they rowed, sulked, didn't speak, but eventually something would force them back together and they would let whatever had happened drift into the past. It had been friendship before anything else, although perhaps their closeness was always destined to become something more. Friendship had remained a constant between them, whatever else went on, between them or other people. She would laugh when he came to work with tales of conquests or disasters, share her on-the-run breakfast with him and flick her fingers through his hair to tidy it before court; he teased her about boring boyfriends, bought her coffee or alcohol when she was down and always seemed to pay enough attention to not let her leave for court with lipstick on her teeth.


	7. Chapter 7

AN - here's another little update for you on this one. Big thanks to Ansy Pansy for the finer details in this chapter ;-) Hope you enjoy. X.

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Wrapped up against the bitter wind that had crept up, they walked briskly to the tube station, Martha had one gloved hand tucked through Clive's arm and held a cigarette with the other. She knew he disliked smoking, especially her smoking, but it was her biggest vice and she couldn't just stop. He had ceased to lecture her about it quite as much as he used to and had settled for the occasional pointed look; she had been on the receiving end of one as soon as she slipped the packet from her bag.

She dropped the butt on the floor and toed it out before they went inside the station, joining the queue of people swiping tickets and heading for the stairs. The platform was fairly crowded, full of loud groups of people going out and tourists.  
"Bloody glad a night out doesn't look like that anymore," Clive bent his head to mutter in her ear as they waited for the train.  
Martha sniggered, "Yeah, because chambers drinking is _so_civilised".  
"Well, at least we're not out in public acting like idiots," he reasoned, "We keep it all in house, mostly".  
"Hmm, yes, drinking and fucking our colleagues," Martha replied as the train arrived, "I suppose you're right".  
Clive laughed, "Well we've all done both".  
They squashed onto the train between the glass partition and twogirls with huge suitcases; she leaned against the glass and he on the door, holding the overhead bar.  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
He shrugged, "Metaphorically in house, not physically".  
She raised her eyebrows, "Riiight..."  
"How many?" he asked, "From work?"  
Her reply was quick, "Not as many as you. I don't sleep with pupils".  
"That's not an answer. Pupil master?"  
They were fast with their words, neither spoke maliciously or with judgment; it was how they had always worked, jibes and pointed questions, blunt answers and off the cuff comments. Nothing was meant to hurt, although they had certainly sent those sort of comments flying in the past; it was an information exchange; they knew almost everything about each other, but there were some grey areas, things that only mattered now their relationship had changed.  
"Yours," Martha said, "Mine was a woman".  
Clive nodded, "Fair point. So, answer?"  
"Work, four. Five including you," she glanced up, gauging his reaction, unsure how much he knew other than that; they had never shied away from sharing things, but he had been the topic of conversation more often than her in the past, "Eight before I came to London and five not from work since".  
The train juddered and he braced himself so he didn't squash her against the wall, but moved closer so people could leave the carriage. As they began to move again she fully looked at him, trying to read his eyes and face.  
"Way to make me look bad," he muttered, eyes flicking between hers and somewhere over her left shoulder.  
Martha let one hand rest on his chest and shook her head, "I'm hardly a saint. What does it matter anyway? I was just being honest"  
Clive shrugged, his voice quiet "I know you were, that's not what I'm saying. I don't know, maybe it doesn't matter".  
She shook her head, spoke firmly, "It doesn't. I don't care, it's all in the past now".  
He nodded, eyes still not quite able to meet hers. Martha slid her hand up from his chest to his cheek and pulled him towards her, kissed him a little too thoroughly considering they were in public and smiled.

"I cannot even think about eating or moving for a very long time," Clive announced as he dropped on a seat on the tube with a groan.  
She grinned, resisting the urge to prod his stomach, "Shouldn't have had that massive burger then, should you? Or added those extras".  
He couldn't even be bothered to glare, "I ate it all. Except the bits you stole".  
"Good job I did," Martha said cheerfully, taking an unfinished packet of Maltesers from her bag, "Suppose you don't want one then?"  
They had gone for some dinner after the cinema, sweets and popcorn had only served to make them hungry, and had found a very kitsch American diner which John and some friends had raved about when it first opened. John had been right, both about the good food, but also the enormous portions; something which Martha had remembered and taken into account, but Clive hadn't.  
"God no," he shook his head, "Keep them away".  
Relieved to see they hadn't all melted, she took a handful and tucked the packet away again, "Sure you don't even want one?"  
"Not even one," Clive was adamant, so she crunched them one by one, slowly mocking him, knowing they were one of his favorites.  
Very few people got off at their stop, and the street above was quiet when they left the station, probably due to the rain which had begun to fall in a fairly heavy drizzle.  
About halfway back to Clive's, Martha gave in and pulled a packet of cigarettes from her bag; she lit one, took a drag and looked at him, "Sorry".  
"Don't," he said, shaking his head, "We both know I don't like it, but we both know that you're probably not going to stop, and I won't ask you to. It's part of you and it always has been, and honestly, I'm used to it now".  
Martha offered him a half smile, "Have you ever?"  
"Once," Clive said, "People used to at school, out the windows. I had a few, slightly stronger, you could say, at university. Drunk at parties. Made me feel so ill I could never take it up".  
She blew a smoke ring that quickly dissipated in the wet air, "Hmm, that was more my misspent teenage years than uni. Wouldn't now though".

They were lounging on the sofa; Clive sitting at one end, Martha's feet in his lap as she lay stretched out with her head on the end cushion. She propped herself up on her elbows, looking towards him until he noticed her gaze, "You ok?"  
Martha's eyes flickered away and she hesitated before speaking, "This, this is _real,_ isn't it?" the look on her face was fear, a rare show of vulnerability and emotion, "Because I don't think I can bear it if it isn't".  
He turned to face her and she sat up, drawing her knees under her chin and blinking furiously, angry with herself for seeming so fragile.  
"Yes," his words were firm, sure, "I promise, this is real. I want you, this, forever. I'm not asking anything," he fixed his eyes on hers, "Yet. I'm in love with you Martha Jane Costello, and I'm in this for the long run. You and me, together, that's what's real".  
A slight nod, a few more blinks and a sniff he pretended not to notice, "Sorry. I'm just, you know I'm crap at this type of thing".  
He smiled and shuffled closer to her, "No you're not. If it was the other way around, I'd the be same. I wouldn't believe me".  
"It's not that," she said, voice stronger, "I don't not believe you, god no, of course I do. It means _so much_, and it's, I'm just..." she couldn't say aloud how terrified she was. Always insecure about her personal life, she had only let a handful of people in before and had been burned more than once. Being alone, although not necessarily lonely, was a lot simpler. She knew he was different, that she meant as much to him as he did to her, and that made it easier and harder at the same time.  
"You don't need to be," he pulled her hands away from her knees, holding them gently, "There is nothing to be afraid of. This is us; friends, lovers, relationship, it's still us Marth, and it's real. Christ, I'm nervous too, but we've been through everything together and that's not going to change now. We've always been side-by-side, now we're holding hands".  
Martha let out a soft laugh, "I think I can manage that," pushed her fingers between his more firmly and leaned forward, "Come here then, Clive _William _Reader".  
He did so, smiling, and let her fall against him, mouths open,both needy and reassuring as they kissed. She sighed into it, contented. It had never been doubt in her mind, it was fear; she had loved him and wanted it for so long that now it was happening, she almost didn't know what to do. A secret romantic, Martha loved deeply, but not often, and the fear of rejection made her keep people at arms length more often than not. He had broken through every barrier she had made, charming smile and a wink; even when they were just friends there had been something bubbling under the surface and time and time again they gave in to it, but for a long time neither ever realised that it would turn into something far more. It was the naming of it, she thought, that made it real and therefore made it terrifying because it could fall apart. She didn't expect it to, but the fear would always be there because it had happened before. He was more careful with her (heart and mind) than anyone hadever been, even as a friend, and she knew he revolved around her as much her world did around him. They worked. They fit. It was as simple as that; alone they were good, at everything, but together they were better, and they both knew it. His fingers dipped underneath her clothes and all but one thought floated out of her head; together, they were brilliant.


End file.
